And Yet
by Ameliorably
Summary: Hawkeye finds himself in a situation he swore he wouldn't be in after the events Comrades in Arms, and he's feeling more than he wants to. Chapter 2 is rated M, contains some adult content.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I always thought** ** _something_** **happened between Hawkeye and Margaret during during/after the red party. Their body language certainly wasn't that of two people who'd agreed to be just friends. This is my take on things, enjoy. Contains dialogue from the episode Peace on Us. Part two will contain Adult content, which is why this story is rated M. This fic assumes it's the first divergence from canon in this universe :)  
**

This was not supposed to be happening. This was not the tent he was supposed to be in, and full was certainly not what his arms were meant to be. _No overnighters, no commitment._ Or at least that's what he used to tell himself. Hawkeye looked down at the completely naked, still sleeping blonde in his arms, her hair washed clean its red stain from last night's party. He had promised himself after their night together behind enemy lines that this would never, _ever_ happen again. Damn BJ and his accurate observations. He was right, She _had_ stirred something in him. A very specific something which he had been trying to ignore ever since. Of all the women in all the places in the world, it had to be Margaret, and it had to be in the middle of a war zone. _Miss Scarlett in the conservatory with a lead pipe._ He shakes his head, trying in vain to clear the thoughts swirling around his mind. He didn't fully understand how this had happened. Many women had come and gone during their time in Korea. Some more beautiful, some more willing, and all less abrasive and less skilled at getting up his nose, yet none had affected him as deeply as she had.

Sure, there'd been friction between them since the beginning; early on the true nature completely obscured by their warring views and opinions, and later dismissed as more of the same. Neither one of them had thought much more of it until their fateful night lost in enemy territory. It had been a light bulb moment. So it _wasn't_ just their irritation with each other that fuelled their disagreements. Suddenly so much about them made sense. But Margaret in all her insecure glory had started simpering all over him like she would have one of her old Generals. That along with the traitorous, not entirely unpleasant thoughts he'd started having about what it would be like to be in a serious relationship with her was enough to terrify him into a quick retreat. It was stifling. He'd gone and told her that they were too different for anything to come of things and shoved it as far as he could from his mind. The first time they had sex could be written off purely as exceptional circumstances if he lied to himself, if he forgot how beautifully, how wonderfully, how combustively they had come together. A second time, though. A second time was the sort of thing that suggested an underlying reason. Damn you, BJ. Hawkeye was choosing to blame it on him even though he was only the messenger. _Maybe if he hadn't opened his size 12 mouth then I would have been blissfully unaware of said feelings._ It wasn't even just a plain old something that had stirred, it was turning out to be a very deep something indeed and, though he'd been pretending very hard that it didn't exist, it had been bubbling away in there all this time, only to emerge now with uncomfortable clarity.

His resolve hadn't started slipping until after he'd arrived back from the peace talks. Her pain was what had given him the last shove over the edge and into that jeep with the intent and impetus to stick it to the men who ran this war. But it wasn't until he'd arrived back and caught sight of her with her red hair, all radiant looking. She looked like she'd shed the weight of the world since he'd left. He hadn't spotted her right away. She'd hung back, resting against the piano. But soon she was escorting a very inebriated Charles towards him, huge smile on her face. After Charles had shuffled away, Hawkeye threw his arms open to her. "Margaret!"

"Welcome home, you crazy galoot!" she said, throwing her arms around him.

It was then that he realised that she felt a lot like home. He let his hands rest on her waist. She didn't brush them off or move away.

"I did it, I told them all! You should have seen me."

She looked like she was actually proud of him. Her hand suddenly flew up and grabbed the back of his head and pulled him slightly forward; for a brief moment he thought she might actually kiss him in the middle of the mess tent. He shuffles her sideways slightly. "Listen, about your divorce, if there's anything I can do…"

She tosses her head, "Best thing that's ever happened to me, the weight of the world the world is off my shoulders. I feel like a new woman. It's all coming back. The spirit, the confidence…"

He believed her, too. All she'd done since getting married was worry about it and fight with her 'husband' over the phone.

"Oh that's great, that's fantastic! It's just what I wanted to hear. I'm proud of you."

"Oh my God, I could use a drink." She laughs, moving away to refill her empty glass as Colonel Potter comes over to talk to him, bringing him a drink of his own. She comes back quickly, however, eager to help BJ and the others dunk his head into a vat of red.

Margaret's taking great pleasure in showing him his reflection in a small mirror when a man from I-CORPS turns up. The man demands to see Colonel Potter before coming to find Hawkeye. Margaret jumps in front of him to his defence with all he fierceness. "He's innocent, you're not taking him no place."

"Margaret," Hawkeye admonishes gently. But she's having none of it.

"You stay out of this and shut up." She hits back at him before Potter steps in. Hawkeye tries to talk to Major Whatshisface from I-CORPS but Potter shushes him, telling him he's probably in too much trouble already. It all gets straightened out fairly quickly. Margaret stands close with her hand on his shoulder almost the entire time.

Their sobriety went downhill quickly from there.

Both the jukebox and the piano had been hauled across from the Officer's Club, and soon the floor was full of shuffling drunks. Hawkeye'd downed a three, maybe four drinks by this point and was still sitting on his stool at the bar. He scanned the room for Margaret and found her at the other end of the bar, talking to a couple of the nurses.

"Hey Margaret. Margaret!"

She turned to him "Hm?"

"Dance with me," The absurdity of the day, and the strange, buoyant relief he feels at having gotten away with his stupid stunt make him decide to push his luck.

She quirks her eyebrow at him and smiles as she walks over to his outstretched arms, putting her drink on the bar. The nurses she's just left look surprised. The pair start out by trying to dance properly, but it soon becomes apparent that they're just a little too drunk for that. This suits Hawkeye fine. This was, at best, just a poorly disguised excuse to get her in his arms again anyway. Margaret moves her arms so that they're up around his neck and he replies in kind by pulling her flush against himself. It's borderline inappropriate but she doesn't seem to mind. She leans her head on his chest as they sway to the music. Some of the tent's other occupants' occupants are starting to notice. The nurses nudge each other and point and giggle, and if Igor's jaw opens any wider it risks getting stuck on something. BJ and Colonel Potter share a knowing smile across the tent. Hawkeye looks down at the top of her red head. He's having those feelings again. He's afraid that if these feelings get much bigger he's going to have to start using the "L" word, and he's about drunk enough to tell her. He also wouldn't mind going somewhere more private and reacquainting himself with that lovely body of hers. He _really_ wouldn't mind.

Margaret smiles up at him lazily, having noticed his gaze. "What are you thinking?"

"Just that you're adorable when you're drunk, and that I'm trying to figure out how to tell you that I'm about to kiss you so that you can get ready to slap me."

"Would I do that?"

"I dunno, let's find out." He starts leaning towards her

 _"_ _Here?"_

"Why not, we're both here."

"But there are other here people too." She may be drunk, but she's not drunk enough to kiss Hawkeye surrounded by the rest of the camp.

"It would be better without them, wouldn't it"

Margaret nods earnestly.

"Alright then."

In a moment of silliness, he'd picked her up, quickly shifted her into the bridal hold and then run out of the tent with a giggling armful of Margaret, her arms around his neck.

The others watched them go.

"She _giggles?_ They are. _Disgusting."_ a very drunk Charles said to nobody in particular before wandering off into the night.

"Well, it's about time". BJ says with such certainty that Charles, Father Mulcahy and Potter turn to stare at him. "Well it is. They've obviously been harbouring feelings for a while."

Potter nods, "It's true, they've been a little different since they came back from enemy territory; since they 'sustained each other'."

Father Mulcahy looks slightly aghast.

Potter turns to the priest, "It's okay, Father, better Hawkeye than that no-good husband of hers."

Father Mulcahy frowns slightly, "I see. Well, I'd better be going. Gotta get some prayers in before I sleep!"

"Goodnight, Father."

"Night, Father"

"Goodnight all."

BJ's quiet for a moment before realising something, "Oh no."

"What is it, son?"

"He didn't take her back to her tent, he took her to the showers."

"That Pierce"

"Let's hope nobody else wants a shower anytime soon."

"Damn. I'd been kinda hoping for one of those myself."

"Me too. Hey, y'know where Charles is probably headed?"

"The showers."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Charles is drunk, of that he is aware, however he is also aware that he's covered in red dye, and there's no way he's going to sleep covered in filth like that. He opens the door to the shower and gets an eyeful he hadn't bargained on. There, both in the same stall, were a naked and wet Margaret and Hawkeye standing pressed together, her arms around his neck, with streams of red dye dribbling down their bodies, her naked breasts pressed up against his chest.

"Oh good _Lord,_ have you two no shame? Surely you could have done better than him, Margaret."

"You're just jealous, Charles."

"Of Margaret? Hardly." He had in the past entertained certain fantasies about having her as his own, blonde firecracker that she is, but it would never have worked. His mother would have insisted on sending her to a finishing school to try and iron out some of the Irish in her and that would not have gone down well. He also doubted that he had the spark required to keep her interested like Pierce seemed to. Lucky man.

"Do you mind, Charles, we're trying to get clean here."

"Oh-ho, is that what you're trying to do. For a moment there I thought you might be trying to engage in sexual intercourse in the camp shower, the only camp shower, which I happen to be in need of."

"Keep your hair on, we'll be out in a minute."

Margaret giggles, still on the more inebriated end of tipsy, ignoring Charles, pushing herself harder up against Hawkeye. Charles swallows audibly, tearing his eyes away from her her breasts, now bulging against Hawkeye from the extra pressure, and the red rivers running over them.

"I...I...I will be back in five minutes, and I expect you two," he points to them individually, "to be gone!"

"Spoilsport," he hears Margaret say after he's hurried out of the tent. Perhaps, it seems, that she's just as bad as he is. It's quite possible they deserve each other.

"Hey Charles!" Hawkeye yells from the showers

"Good god, now what?"

"Can you bring us my towel and robe?"

"Guh, you two are animals!"

* * *

A robe and a towel are shoved unceremoniously in the door a few moments later. They fall

to the dusty floor, Charles apparently uninterested in helping them any more than it took not to see them naked together again.

"I'm wearing your robe, you can have the towel"

"But the towel is smaller"

"You only have to cover the bottom half."

"But I wanted to see you in a tiny towel."

She swats him on the arm playfully before sashaying teasingly out of the shower stall to pick up the robe. She throws him the towel.

Hawkeye groans, "please tell me we're going back to your tent."

"We're going back to my tent."

Hawkeye grins widely as he wraps the towel around his waist, "All my Christmases have come at once," he looks down, "Uh, Margaret, I seem to have a small problem…" Blood rushing south causes the towel to fall from his waist again.

Margaret turns to look at him and flutters her eyelashes, giving him her most seductive smile. She looks him up and down, "I see nothing small or problematic."

"Ohhh she jokes. I'm going to have to use you as a shield."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

She squeaks as he grabs her and pulls her to that her back is pressed up against his front, his "problem" pressed just below the small of her back. This is the first time Hawkeye has ever wished he was shorter. He moves away from her for the moment it takes to wrap the towel around himself again and pulls her back to him roughly to hold it in place.

"My tent, quick," she commands, and slips her hand between them to give him a quick squeeze.

His eyes go wide, "AAAAAARGH, Margaret! Let's go," he shoves her out of the shower tent door. Her hair is wet and tousled and decidedly delicious, the fact that she's wall wrapped up in his robe only makes her more delectable.

They run a funny frogmarch in a beeline for her tent, her much shorter legs struggling to keep up with the much longer ones behind them. She's giggling and Hawkeye is yelling. This is like being held hostage by something that is loaded and not a gun, only it's purely voluntary. They pass a scoffing Charles and a sniggering BJ, "Gangway!" Hawkeye yells at Charles dramatically, which only makes him roll his eyes more.

They reach her tent and fling open the door,

"Right, in in in in in…" Hawkeye rants, pushing her inside.

She turns to face him, her blond halo sticking up in all directions, her eyes shining with lust, her rosy lips parted as she pants slightly, though it's hard to tell whether that's from their run or the very aroused, very naked man in her tent.

She slams the lock on her door into place and shucks his robe, and Hawkeye makes a grab for her, pulling her to him facing him this time.

"I'll show you "in" in a minute," she murmurs, eyes alight with teasing and intent.

"Minx"

"Pervert"

"But apparently _your_ kind of pervert"

She gives no reply, instead she pulls his mouth to her and starts devouring him. Soon they're nothing but a tangle of lips and warm bodies and limbs. She pushes him so that he falls onto her bed. She barely gives his body time to settle onto the bed before she's rolled underneath him, pulling him down, pinning herself under him so that he's suddenly inside her. He's hit at once by a wall of sheer heaven and an unexpected wave of emotion. It floors him, and for a moment he's completely still, unable to move before he gives in to the near involuntary urge to crack a joke, "Hi honey, I'm home." She just half moans, half groans at his attempted humour and his current position.

He actually means it, though. Last time, their first time, that time in the hut, he'd thought that it was just because she was good in bed, but he'd not been able to recreate the feeling with anyone else. There was something about _her._ The level of attraction, the emotions involved. He felt like he might drown in her, and right now he wouldn't mind at all. He kisses her deeply, trying to find somewhere to pour all of those big emotions.

They start moving together, biting, sucking, moaning, groping, sliding, _fucking_. They're completely lost in each other, their rhythm, the scents of skin, sweat and sex that they're oblivious. Oblivious to camp sounds, oblivious to Charles yelling at them to be quiet, oblivious to the nurses giggling as they walk past the tent. Hawkeye barely even notices when Margaret sinks her teeth into his shoulder, branding him as she tries to muffle her pleasured scream, too caught up in rapidly intensifying waves of pleasure. He's caught by surprise when she tumbles over the edge, shuddering and juddering around him, earning him more teeth marks on his arm, and quickly sending him off into oblivion himself.

When he looks down at her her eyes are pleasure hazy and she's smiling back up at him, her face is shiny with sweat, but in the low light it's almost as if she glows. He's not the only one who's fallen, not the only one who feels.

He drops a slow, lazy kiss on her parted lips and she pulls him in for more. Neither of them want to talk now, and there'll be plenty of time for avoiding that later. But really, he knows, they _do_ need to talk.

There's something here.

Together they are something.

Something long denied and wholly unexpected.

Exhaustion is beginning to claim them, having been put off since an OR session that seems like it was days ago. Hawkeye moves himself to lay by her side, pulling the blankets up over them.

They curl into one another, forgetting the war, enjoying the now, bathing in the warmth and comfort of two bodies pressed together. He closes his eyes and feels the warm weight of her head on her chest, her breath softly tickling his skin as he slowly drifts to sleep.

* * *

Hawkeye wakes slowly, his eyes take their time adjusting to the dim light. He takes in his surroundings, and Margaret sleeping soundly at his breast.

This was not supposed to be happening. This was not the tent he was supposed to be in, and full was certainly not what his arms were meant to be.


End file.
